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The voice continued, "Step forth and be questioned."

Samandar adjusted his attire and stepped onto the first tier of the high platform.

"Scion of the Warblood, the strongest shall reign. Are you mighty?"

"Yes, I am the mightiest warrior in this world," Samandar declared loudly.

He spoke no falsehood. With Leimen dead, Pope Paul VIII's soul scattered, Chen Xuanfeng yet to enter the Holy Domain, and Catherine still a step below him, he truly stood as the strongest warrior of the age. Thus, the voice above responded, "You may advance."

Samandar took another step, ascending to the second tier.

"People of the Warblood, great deeds honor the king. Do you have such deeds?"

"Yes, I have reclaimed our lands, slain our foes, left millions dead, and stormed the enemy's stronghold. My deeds are great."

"You may advance."

Samandar climbed to the next tier.

"People of the Warblood, great sacrifice honors the king. Have you sacrificed?"

"Yes, I have made my body a vessel, reviving the ancient warrior powers of our people. I have sacrificed much."

"You may advance."

Samandar stepped onto the fourth tier.

"People of the Warblood, wisdom in governance honors the king. Can you rule?"

"Yes, I have ruled for twenty years, expanding borders, enriching the state, and strengthening the army. I can indeed govern."

"You may advance."

Samandar now stood upon the fifth tier, face to face with the Pope.

"Will you dedicate your life to the Warblood kin, treating all clans as your own, all bloodlines as your blood, unwavering till death?"

"I will."

"Good. The kingdom is yours."

The grand voice faded, replaced by the aged tones of the Pope.

"By the Oracle of the War God, Samandar Riftfang Rhineking possesses mighty strength, glorious deeds, the virtue of sacrifice, and the wisdom to rule. Henceforth, he will be emperor, founding a new empire!" As the words ended, Samandar knelt on one knee, and amidst crimson light, a golden crown was placed upon his head.

"Long live the Emperor,—"

"Long live the Empire,—"

Samandar's loyal supporters erupted in cheers, while other orcs joined in, though less enthusiastically. The roar of drums and music rose, filling the air with fervor.

"To earn greater blessings from the War God, we will here execute a hundred enemies of the empire, their blood and souls will lay the foundation for its prosperous future!"

This was the third rite of the ceremony. As a warlike people, the orcs, after offering prayers to the War God and receiving the Pope's coronation, had to slay many of the empire's enemies—especially those of high rank and power—before the shamans could use their blood and souls for further rituals to bless the realm.

Historically, the sacrifices at such imperial foundings were mostly elves, occasionally demons were used. But today, all hundred victims were humans.

High priests of the Holy Light, leaders of the paladins, royalty and nobles from the four guardian kingdoms, swordmasters of imperial rank, and powerful sorcerers—each was a name that, years ago, could shake the Western Continent. Now, they were just prisoners awaiting death.

"Hmm? Why are there only ninety-nine?" Chen Xuanfeng stood below the high platform, feeling somewhat displeased by Samantha's uneventful coronation. He turned to look at the prisoners and, upon counting, realized one was missing.

An elderly Shaman nearby chuckled and explained, "According to tradition, the final and most important sacrifice in the blood ritual must be executed by the new emperor herself. That’s why it’s brought up last."

Chen Xuanfeng nodded as the orc warriors escorting the prisoners forced the humans into a line, one by one. At Samantha’s command, blades swung, beheading them one after another. Soon, the square ran red with blood, while Shamans erected totem poles to gather the power-infused blood and souls.

Before long, the ninety-nine humans had been executed, and the final sacrifice was brought forward.

"Huh. They got him after all." Chen Xuanfeng couldn’t help but pause when he saw the last prisoner.

This human was none other than Enlai Ke. Weili. Yang, the young dark mage who once wreaked havoc across the northwest.

...Though this human youth had caused the orcs immense trouble, he was merely a rebel—hardly more distinguished in status than the previous sacrifices. Samantha, are you using him as the final offering to send a message to me—his shadow patron?

As Chen Xuanfeng pondered, he looked up toward Samantha on the high platform. Sure enough, the newly crowned orc emperor turned her gaze toward him. The eyes of the two powerful orcs met—one filled with imperial majesty and arrogance, the other sharp and cold. The brief standoff made the very air tremble, though only the Pope noticed this silent confrontation. He shook his head slightly but said nothing.

Enlai Ke was dragged into the square by two lion-warriors, clearly badly wounded. His entire body appeared weak, his youthful face deathly pale, his eyes half-lidded. Had the orc warriors not yanked his black hair to force his head up, no one would have seen his downturned face.

Samantha boomed from the platform, "This human is the mastermind behind the devastation in the northwest for over half a year, slaughtering tens of thousands of our kin and even delaying our assault on Saint Spirit Mountain. Yet, no matter how cunning he was, he could not escape the pursuit of our elite warriors. Today, I shall use his head to lay the foundation of our new empire!"

With that, Samantha reached Enlai Ke, raising her single arm high as she swept her gaze across the orc leaders—especially those who had once doubted her capabilities during Enlai Ke’s rampage. Then, golden combat energy surged in her palm as she brought it down upon Enlai Ke with crushing force.

A Saint’s strike, even without a divine weapon, could sunder mountains and part seas. Forget a mere mage—even a Sword Emperor would not survive such a blow.